


Insomnia

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Insomnia, Sad, Sharing a Bed, Sleeping Together, Terminal Illnesses, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-24 02:30:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21091925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: No matter how late the hour, there are those at Skyhold still awake.Night after night, Vivienne is one of the last awake.





	Insomnia

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I cried finishing this one, not gonna lie.

# 1.

The Iron Bull was silhouetted against the silvery grey sky, which was streaked with meandering cloud, only a handful of stars peeking through. He was leaning on one of the crenulations of the tower, a great big shadow, and Vivienne could see the tell-tale streak of tobacco smoke rising over his head, twining about his horns. Here, in the dead of night, she was rather comforted to know she wasn’t the only of their more important people awake.

“The Iron Bull?” Vivienne asked.

Bull leapt a foot into the air, turning to face her, the cigar dropping to hide behind his thigh.

“Ma’am,” Bull said, his gaze flickering past her. “Er—”

“At ease, darling,” Vivienne murmured. “I was under the impression that young Cremisius had put a stop to the cigars.”

“Er, yeah,” Bull said as Vivienne stepped forwards, her lips quirking into a small smile. She put out her hand, and with a sheepish smile Bull handed out the cigar, looking at her with wonder in his eye as she brought it to her mouth and took a delicate draw. It was spectacularly spiced, and she exhaled slowly, savouring it. “I’m only meant to have ‘em after a good victory.”

“Then why, pray, are you smoking alone on the ramparts?”

Bull’s expression was affectionate as he took the cigar back, and he sighed, glancing at the orange glow of the cigar’s end. Vivienne watched the way he inhaled, moving to stand beside him against the wall, looking out over Skyhold. Only a few candles were still lit all about the fortress, and she could see the little orange glows of tents and bedrooms, scarcely half a dozen of them. Even as she watched, one was blown out.

“Can’t sleep,” Bull said, shrugging his mighty shoulders.

“No,” Vivienne murmured. “Nor can I.”

Bull offered her the cigar again, but she politely shook her head.

“Is there a reason you can’t sleep?” Vivienne asked. “Missing our pride of Tevinter?”

“Yeah,” Bull said. “I guess. Normally, I’d be in a tent with one of the Chargers all the time, but I’m up in that room over the tavern. It’s too quiet. I can hear the tavern downstairs, but nothing in the room with me, you know? Always slept better with someone else on the bed next to me. S’not like we sleep together every night, when he’s not out in the field, just… I don’t know. If he’s here, I know he’s okay.”

“Yes,” Vivienne said softly. There was a tired ache in her chest, and at her eyes she felt the dry heaviness of fatigue, the want to go to bed, but knowing that if she laid herself down, she would only be forced to lie there in the darkness, not able to tip into the Fade. “I’m the same, darling, you’re hardly alone.”

“Can I do anything for you, Ma’am?”

“No,” Vivienne said. “Let’s just sit here for a moment. And then you might walk me back to my quarters.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the Bull said obediently, but not without feeling. “Can do. What’s it like? Dreaming, like you guys do?”

“I wouldn’t begin to know how to explain,” Vivienne said.

“Nah,” Bull murmured. “Guess not.”

# 2.

It was some time past two.

Vivienne gracefully descended the stairs from the upstairs quarters, making her way down to the main hall, and at a sound in the corridor, she turned her head.

“Madame de Fer!” said Solas, stepping toward her. “Might I ask your assistance for a moment?”

Vivienne arched an eyebrow. Solas seemed exerted, his cheeks slightly flushed, and he saw the haughty amusement in her face.

“Very well,” he said sharply, irritated. “I will—”

“I didn’t say _no_, darling,” Vivienne said, not bothering to keep the condescension from his voice. “If you’re truly so desperate for my assistance, I am _happy_ to lend a hand.”

Solas hesitated, scowling, but then he led the way down the corridor, and Vivienne saw one of the serving girls, young Shani, laid out on the chaise long, a cold sweat plain on her face, hunched over slightly. She was clutching at her ankle, which was bent at a wrong angle, and Vivienne let out a low sound of disapproval, glancing to the doorway of the servants’ stair, where she’d plainly slipped on the stone.

“Madame de Fer is going to hold your hand,” Solas said gently.

“_Really_?” Vivienne demanded. “Is that truly what you—”

“Unless _you_ wish to set her bone in place,” Solas said, and Vivienne swept past him, moving to sit beside Shani. She was a clever girl, Vivienne knew, intelligent in a way a lot of the servants weren’t, but with that curious quiet a lot of elves had. Shani never made eye contact with humans, Vivienne included, and she voiced no irritation when Shani lowered her gaze, staring at her own knees instead of Vivienne herself. A silly little phobia, really, one that she ought get over, but…

Shani’s hand was warm in Vivienne’s, and Vivienne could feel her shaking.

“This won’t hurt,” Solas said delicately, lifting her skirt only to the knee and folding it delicately over, not baring any more of her skin than he had to, than was proper. It was strange – a lot of the servants rather _loved_ Solas, the elves, anyway. Vivienne had no doubt several of them had tried to charm their way into his bed before, but Solas, by all accounts, was content to remain alone.

Vivienne watched the blue-green glow of his palms as he drew magic into them, and no matter his chaos on the battlefield, Vivienne knew that he excelled at restoration magic, was always happy to watch a master at work, no matter how badly dressed and ridiculous he might be.

Shani squeezed Vivienne’s hand very tightly, gasping as the glow settled into her leg, but then she relaxed, and Solas reached up, gently touching the girl’s forehead, drawing a little of her fringe back. He was almost paternal with her – with a great many of the elves.

“There,” Solas said gently. “All fixed. Go straight to your bed, lethallan. You need to rest.”

“Thank you,” Shani said. “Lethallin. Madame de Fer.”

She moved on shaking feet, and Vivienne watched Solas as he rubbed his fingers against one another, soothing them of the excess magic that crackled on the skin.

“What is it, Solas, that that means? _Lethallin?_ Isn’t that what you call the Inquisitor?”

“Friend.”

“The _servants_ call you _friend?”_

Solas’ expression was so dark as to wither, his lip almost curling, and then his expression was schooled into one of cold neutrality, and he turned his face away.

“My thanks for your assistance,” he said without emotion.

“Curious that you should ask me,” Vivienne murmured. “When you have so little respect for me. To trust me to hold your friend’s hand.”

“I do not lack respect for you,” Solas said. “I loathe much of that which you say, Madame de Fer, and disagree with you on a variety of points, but that is not to say I do not respect you. You are strong, you stand by that which you believe in, and in your own way, you care for those beneath your charge. You are not so selfish as you might appear, at first glance. This is something to be admired.”

Vivienne was, to her frustration, rather caught off guard.

“You _do_ surprise me, Solas,” Vivienne murmured, and Solas shrugged his shoulders, moving past her. He smelled faintly of samphire, and she wondered if it was a real scent, or merely a Fade-ghost clinging to his clothes.

# 3.

“Madame de Fer,” said the ambassador softly, reaching up and rubbing sleepily at her eye, and Vivienne couldn’t help but find it rather sweet, how plainly sleepy she was, how tired. She had a mug of cocoa in her lap, held loosely in the other hand. “You cannot sleep?”

“It’s of no consequence,” Vivienne said mildly, passing the ambassador by and moving further into the great hall, where Dorian was silhouetted against the open doors. He was leaning on the frame, his arms crossed loosely over his chest, and she moved slowly toward him.

“My dear Vivienne,” he said softly, turning to meet her gaze. “You’re still dressed – have you not yet laid yourself down to bed?”

“It’s been a long night, my darling man,” Vivienne said, delicately shrugging her shoulders. “I’m hardly the only one in this castle to have weathered a sleepless night. What is it that keeps you awake?”

“Oh, you know,” Dorian said, waving a handsome, well-manicured hand. “Homesickness, that’s all. You’ve never been to Tevinter, have you?”

“No,” Vivienne murmured. “Won’t you tell me?”

“In Minrathous…” Dorian sighed, his eyes fluttering closed, and Vivienne looked at the kohl he painted on his eyes every morning, all the better to bat his eyelashes at any strapping man he saw. “The buildings are so incredibly tall that you feel you are looking up to the sky itself when you walk amidst them, their spires shining gold on moonlit nights. The stone _shimmers_, and that stone is so ancient, but so too are the cobbles under your feet, laid brick by brick a thousand years before your most distant forefather even drew in a breath. And the magic in the air, oh, Vivienne, it paints every colour of the Fade upon the sky itself, so that sometimes you can hardly tell if you’re waking or dreaming.”

Dorian opened his eyes, staring down the steps at the grass before the hall, his lips twisted in a small frown. “But there are the slaves, of course. Sometimes, blood flows in the gutters. The screams—” He inhales. “I want to go home. And yet, now I’ve left, I know I will never see it the way I once did. The home I knew is gone from me now – the scales have been lifted from my eyes.”

Vivienne was silent, and Dorian shook his head.

“My apologies. The long night has left me maudlin. Good night, Madame de Fer.”

“You’re going to your bed?”

“_My_ bed?” Dorian repeated, and he laughed. “Maker, no. I’ll work myself to exhaustion in somebody else’s.”

She watched him walk across the yard, with purpose, toward the Herald’s Rest.

She wondered if it had occurred to him that she might miss home too, and then dismissed the thought as idle nonsense.

# 4.

“Hey, Iron Lady,” Varric said quietly, looking up from his writing desk. “Do you _ever_ sleep? Servants say you’re pacing around at all hours.”

“When the mood takes me,” Vivienne said, smiling coquettishly. She was far too old to be a coquette now, of course, but that didn’t matter with Varric – he smiled right back, and she saw the fatigue in his eyes, just like hers. “Do you miss your darling, Varric, when you’re with us at Skyhold?”

It was the sort of question one could never ask, if one was playing the Game. It was too revealing, too obvious, too _plain_, but Varric did not needle at the point, because he did not play the Game himself. He merely narrated from the sidelines, and found himself content in that – but she knew already, from the soft-voiced tales of Kirkwall he told by the fireside, that he did not write _everything_ down.

“You mean Bianca,” Varric said, “or Hawke?”

How kind of him, to respond to a question painfully revealing, earnestly asked, in precisely the same vein.

The two of them stood in the silence, looking at one another, and Vivienne wondered at the narrative charm he no doubt found it, that the two of them should be kindred spirits, a powerful mage, an important player of the Great Game, and a charming dwarf, a writer of tales, a charmer of all he meets.

"You want me to walk you back to your room?" Varric asked. “I’ll tell you a bedtime story, if you want. Funny, dirty, sad – I got all kinds to put you to sleep.”

Vivienne felt herself laugh. It was a quiet noise, but it sounded loud in the room.

“Thank you, darling, but I think I’ll be alright. You keep your tales for your readers.”

“G’night, Viv,” Varric murmured. “My door’s open, if you need me.”

Vivienne turned on her heels to make her way down the corridor.

# 5.

She’d been tossing and turning for hours now. The bed felt too light and too empty, too cold to lie alone in, and she sighed hard, staring up at the ceiling.

“Still remember the sound of his breathing,” said the quiet voice next to her, and she looked at Cole on the corner of her bed, cross-legged in its bare feet, wearing its hat and looking rather like a very sad, unlit lamp. “It used to be so strong, so even, and the feeling of his body in the bed, strong, safe, not about sex, but about _love_.”

“And what would you know about love, demon?” Vivienne asked, archly.

“We’re going to Val Royeaux, tomorrow,” Cole said quietly. “You could come. No one would mind if you went… a week. Two weeks. You need to sleep, Ma’am. It wouldn’t hurt.”

Vivienne stared at it, the abomination folded neatly on the end of her bed, looking at her with its watery blue eyes, sunken in as though it were still starving in that hole its corpse had died in. Vivienne didn’t like the pull in her chest.

“Bull put you up to this, did he?”

“No,” Cole said, shaking its head. “I can’t heal your hurt. He can. For a while.”

“Get out, demon,” Vivienne said, turning on her side. “Go bother Solas.”

She felt his, no, its weight disappear from the corner of the bed. Stupid boy, she almost thought, but it _wasn’t_ a boy, it was a _demon_.

# +1

Vivienne laid awake for the longest time, her hand spread on Bastien’s chest. His breathing was laboured in a way it never had been, before, but he was still warm, still a peaceful presence beside her, and she closed her eyes, leaning forward and pressing her forehead against his arm.

How long, now?

How long until his body gave out, and she came home to the estates to find Bastien dead in his bed? Worse, would he die in her arms? Would she have to watch it, calm him through it, soothe Nicoline, Laurent, Calienne?

“Darling,” Bastien said in a whisper, his voice hoarse and low, a struggle to speak with his parched throat, as tired as he was all the time. “Stop worrying. You’re home, with me. Let yourself sleep. I have you.”

“For how long?” Vivienne asked, knowing it wasn’t fair, not letting the tears brim in her eyes because she wasn’t a little girl anymore, crying at the unfairness of the world, wailing.

“Oh, my heart,” Bastien whispered, and he wrapped his arm about her back, even though she knew it must have been so _hard_ for him to lift it, so exhausting, and she felt his trembling fingers on her lower back, heard the breath rattle in his lungs as he breathed in, breathed out. “So strong. You always glittered… The first time I saw you, it was like my heart leapt from my chest to meet you.”

“Shut up,” Vivienne said. “You need to sleep.”

“As you command, Madame,” Bastien murmured, and his dry lips brushed her forehead.

She slept on his chest, tried not to think of the cushion it had been before, not hard and bony and rattling quietly; she listened to the rhythm of his heartbeat, tried not to recall how strong it had been before, not thready and weak; she listened to his breathing…

And oh, how soundly she slept.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to hit up [my ask on Tumblr,](http://patricianandclerk.tumblr.com/ask) to talk about DA in general, and definitely to recommend blogs to follow! I am open for requests (for Origins, II, and Inq). I also run a no-drama Dragon Age Discord, which [you can join here.](https://discordapp.com/invite/ttgP5v8) Please comment if you can!


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